


Of Saffron and Magic

by PhantomWriter



Category: Merlin (TV), Supernatural
Genre: 17th Century, Backstory, F/M, Gen, Magic, Mentions of Merthur, Merlin with multiple disguises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23475313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWriter/pseuds/PhantomWriter
Summary: Merlin became first aware of the girl on his visit to Scotland.It was a clueless little girl with unruly, bright red hair and wearing patched clothes.Merlin became certain she was special when he watched as she made a single purple bud of flower bloom under her palm.
Relationships: Crowley & Rowena MacLeod, Merlin & Rowena MacLeod, Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 79





	Of Saffron and Magic

Merlin became first aware of the girl on his visit to Scotland.

It wasn’t even what he would call a ‘visit’. He had heard of the growing witch trials around the area and decided to see it for himself. It was worse than Merlin thought, and when he stumbled a little too late upon the aftermath of a witch hunt, he thought it was like Camelot under Uther’s reign all over again.

Under the cover of the night, no one saw him gather the ashes of the poor woman who might or might have been someone who possessed sorcery. The Church and the townspeople could hardly make a distinction between what was a witch and a local healer anymore, always quick to point fingers and burn someone on the stake. While Merlin hadn’t known her personally, he mourned for the hurt soul and could only be grateful that she wouldn’t suffer anymore.

For a month, Merlin mingled—mingled in so far as to disguise himself as an old woman who was living in the woods, secluded. It has been long since he last took the guise of Dolma, and only once since then. He was quick to discard the memory of Arthur and Gwen, and Merlin wasted no time to establish a residence in the forest. Wouldn’t it be amusing, he thought darkly, if the people of the nearest village would accuse him— _her_ —as a witch?

They could throw their accusations; they were the mask of their fear, after all. The fact was that the people, in general, were scared of witches, more so of the dark woods where whispers told them groups of witches would convene. It was the perfect location for Merlin to reside and place his protection while he studied the Church’s movement against his kind and determine the best course of action as to how he could help save his fellow sorceresses and, though very few, sorcerers.

Merlin laid his confounding spell as a sort of trap. It would confuse those with the intent to harm by making them lost in the wilderness, while those who have neutral intentions would find their attention diverted elsewhere.

Which was why it came as a surprise when a little girl managed to pierce the barrier and crossed a couple of yards of the threshold.

Merlin was alerted of the girl who seemingly had no idea where she currently stood and what she did. She wasn’t aware either of the eyes that watched her movements, stooping down to gather wildflowers and herbs to put in her worn basket. It was a clueless little girl with unruly, bright red hair and wearing patched clothes.

Merlin became certain she was special when he watched as she made a single purple bud of flower bloom under her palm.

The trick delighted her greatly, giggling as she scattered its petals in the wind and made them dance over her head. The wind smelled greatly of pollen and the fragrance of saffron by the time she managed to fill her basket, her face brimming with satisfaction as she sang to herself.

They were both taken aback when she finally noticed him.

The poor girl shook in fear at seeing Merlin, and he knew she would have bolted if not for the sheer terror that she was caught using her magic. Merlin reacted rashly by approaching her quickly, the little girl cowering and starting to cry.

“Please, dinnae hurt me! I dinnae—I dinnae mean to—I won’t hurt anyone w-with—with—”

Merlin stopped on his steps, settled on the appropriate stance of what an old woman should have. He let her hiccup for a couple of minutes before her sobs weakened. He waited patiently for her to become confused as to why he was merely watching her quietly.

“I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “Please dinnae tell anyone. I won’t use it again. I promise!”

“Hush, child,” Merlin said with the raspy voice of Dolma. “I am not here to tell anyone,” he promised. “I am… simply curious of you and your magic.” 

“My what?”

“Magic,” Merlin repeated. “The way you made the flower bloom and the petal dance in the wind.”

She frowned at him, terribly confused. She swallowed. “Is that what it is called? I thought it’s the Devil’s Game. I—I dinnae know any devil, though!” she hastily added. “I have it since little. I think it was from me Mum. My Da dinnae have it.”

A natural sorceress, Merlin thought with fascination. He knew very few sorcerers and sorceresses born with the gift, and certainly not powerful this young. Morgana’s abilities were also born with her, though they took a little past her adolescent years to begin manifesting. The only one he knew who was capable of this level of magic at a young age was himself.

Merlin was almost breathless when he asked, “What is your name, child?”

She bit her lip, hesitant to answer. “Rowena,” she quietly answered. “Rowena MacLeod.”

“Rowena,” Merlin murmured, fondly recalling an old friend who had the same name. “Would you also like to see magic?”

Her confusion morphed into a surprised gasp when Merlin clicked his fingers and conjured a display of little lights like fireflies. They formed the shape of the Pendragon sigil, much to her utter awe and bewilderment. 

Her green eyes glanced upwards to look at Merlin’s face. There was still wariness behind her eyes, but he could also see the steel that mingled with the astonishment of her discovery of him. “W-Who are ye, mam?”

Merlin couldn’t help but smile. “Dolma.”

* * *

Merlin was right in his assumption that she would return as soon as the following day.

He planned to wait it out. Rowena was still young, someone who didn’t know the true extent of her capabilities that it would likely scare her should she find out. Merlin decided that if Rowena wouldn’t come back, it meant that her fear eventually won over her curiosity and the urge to learn more about magic.

She was an inquisitive child, and once she readily agreed to be taught by the Dolma, Merlin wasted no time to educate her with the right fundamentals.

Rowena wasn’t educated on how to read and write, claiming that her Da, an illiterate man himself, couldn’t afford a tutor. She did know her numbers by being the tanner’s daughter who would often come with his father during his trades and negotiations. Merlin’s first order of business was to teach her how to use the ink and introduce her to the alphabet.

She was a quick learner, and within a fortnight she could properly create a string of sentences on parchment. There was also an impatience in her, a thirst for knowledge of more that Merlin chalked up to the natural curiosity of children. He liked that aspect of her, considered it a good thing because he had been in her shoes a long, long time ago, except in his case he never had someone as a proper mentor. Don’t get him wrong; he loved Gaius and appreciated the effort he put in teaching Merlin his utmost despite not being similar to his nephew. He could only teach Merlin so much, but Merlin remained carrying the lessons and values he learned.

Once Merlin was done educating her with the basic principles of sorcery, starting with the right term for which was which, he made a decision that he planned to see through.

With Rowena, Merlin would be the mentor he was supposed to have been with Morgana when she was afraid and thought herself alone in her plight. Merlin would make sure that Rowena wouldn't be his next Morgana, the friend that he failed, nor the next witch the village and the Church would burn on the stake.

Per his expectation, he knew that someone was bound to notice how often Rowena came and went to the woods. Merlin was familiar with the inner workings of small villages, and by nightfall, a little bit of spell was enough to convince them that the girl never visited the forest for other reasons aside from gathering plants.

Her father was a busy man, she told him, and was out most of the day. Her father returning home early meant little to no wage at all, which in return meant her father drowning his sorrows in his bottle. Rowena had bruises to show for the encounters where her father had one too many, and this prompted Merlin to teach her the easiest kind of healing magic that functioned as a salve to minimal cuts and bruises. Within a few days, she got the grasp of it. 

They have a simple arrangement where he would teach her and in return she would fulfill errands he tasked her, letting her move freely in and out of the woods with a valid reason (that the people hadn’t looked much into). Merlin wasn’t that unfair to send her unpaid for her troubles. He would cook for her with filling meals, sometimes sending her with loaves of bread that she could take home, or as a reward for her steady progress and obedience, a coin or two for her to save.

Rowena drank his lessons like a man dying of thirst. She was impressive in applying what she learned through practical demonstrations. She was all raw magic that left unattended was similar to a crude, edged knife. It was aggressive, and what she struggled with the most was controlling herself and the emotion that powered her abilities. As expected of a child with a fiery temper, she threw a tantrum once that was enough to bring down a single, sturdy oak tree. It never happened again once Merlin ‘grounded’ her by not letting her use her magic for a whole week, and he _did_ know how to not let her.

Merlin grew fond of her, of course, which wasn’t surprising given the amount of time he would spend with her. He found himself brushing her lengthening hair, taming her curls on moments where they would simply talk during ‘breaks’ as they called it. After half a year, Rowena was no longer afraid to speak her mind, more articulate in her speech since Merlin first knew her.

It was one cloudy afternoon when she was weaving the hole in her basket when she asked, “Where did ye live before? Or have you been living this long in this forest?” she frowned to herself, shaking her head. “Nay. I would have seen ye before.” She shook her head once more. “Or mayhaps it was magic too, aye?”

Merlin chuckled. “I wasn’t born and raised here. I migrated.”

“Where did ye come from then?”

“Somewhere far away.” Somewhere that no longer existed, he was close to saying.

“And family?” Rowena asked. “You dinnae have children? How about wee grandchildren?”

“None,” Merlin answered. “None of those. I had… friends and an uncle. My uncle died a long time ago, then followed my friends.” He smiled wanly. “That is the price of magic. We’re born immortal, and that means watching the people we love die before us and the world moving on without them.”

“That’s… that’s no fun,” she whispered. “I’d rather not love at all if that’s what will happen.”

“Now, don’t go saying that, child,” Merlin reminded her. “As an immortal, I’m telling you that it’s better to love than not at all. I understand that you think of it that way, but you’ll realize later in life what I mean.”

Rowena looked thoughtful and observed Merlin uncertainly for a moment. “Will I be like ye after a hundred years? Immortal is… good, I think, but…”

Merlin raised an eyebrow knowingly. “You don’t want to be old and wrinkly like me.”

She glanced down in embarrassment. “Aye,” she muttered honestly.

Merlin laughed. “I am this way, child, because this is the form I like to appear before you.”

“Oh? Oh!” Rowena brightened with wonder. “Magic can do that? You have to teach me!”

“Child, magic can do a lot of things,” he told her with a smile. “But before I can teach you transfiguration, let me introduce your first to the basics of divination.”

She pouted and pestered him about transfiguration until she forgot the matter entirely, too absorbed with the discovery of clairvoyance and its uses. Merlin determined swiftly that it was the subject that she has the least talent for. She didn’t have the True Sight, something which he became upfront of. To any other, it would be a cause for dismay and gloom; to Rowena, it was a drive to improve and make a bridge between having the sight or not at all. It gave way to her theories of spells that could lend the caster the temporary ability to observe a different place without moving from the spot.

Merlin encouraged freethinking, and he supposed it helped with the resourcefulness she grew to have. It wasn’t only the trait that Rowena developed within the year; her imagination proved that she has a knack for stories and expressed her wish to write—if being a witch wouldn’t pan out, she jokingly shared to him. Rowena refused to limit herself with the books Merlin used as a reference. Occasionally, he would find her composing spells in Latin. They didn’t often work, mainly due to the phonetics, but Merlin recognized the promise in them and pushed her to continue with what she called her pastime.

* * *

Time passed them by with Rowena discovering she has more to learn and Merlin more to teach. She remained that pure soul of wonder and magic, though she grew past the wiry girl with unruly red hair and small green eyes to the petite young woman with the smile and wit that captivated her male peers. Her beauty and cleverness were her own effortless magic.

She was like a daughter to him, Merlin realized—foreign as he might be to the concept of fatherhood—as he braided her red hair and tied a yellow ribbon at the end. She looked beautiful in the black and emerald dress they had sewn together for her for the first village fair.

“How do I look?” she asked him, face lit with the excitement of youth.

“Like you’re on your way to break the hearts of many men,” Merlin said with a fond grin. “Remember not to stay out too late. Your father might get worried.”

“I promise,” she told him with a wide smile. She was ready to leave when Merlin stopped her.

“Before you go, I suddenly remember.” He fussed around his worktable, opening a drawer to pull out a small box. “Aha! Here it is.”

Merlin removed the gold necklace from within, much to her shock. “This is for me?” At his nod, she stammered, “I-I cannae take it. It must have cost ye a fortune.”

“I insist. Here.” Merlin rounded her, pushing aside her braid to place the necklace around her neck. He turned her by her thin shoulders. “There. It suits you.”

“Thank ye,” Rowena said shyly, fiddling with the pendant. “I promise to return it to ye later. I’ll take care of it.”

“Come off it! It’s a gift.” Merlin clucked his tongue. “Really, child. About time I give you a present as my student, no? We do not track the time, but I know it has been a couple of years now since you begin to study under me. I look forward to more years with you, Rowena.”

Merlin wasn’t expecting the tight embrace that he received in return. She wasn’t an affectionate girl, and they weren’t people who would engage in the familial gesture. Merlin savored the moment for the rarity that it was, and he squeezed her tightly in return.

“You’re me mum that I never had,” she said, a little tearful that Merlin pretended he didn’t notice.

He had seen her to the door, and he couldn’t wait to hear what stories she would bring him tomorrow.

* * *

Rowena didn’t disappoint, showing up the next morning with hardly any sleep but with a nice tinge of blush on her cheeks and a smile that reached her eyes. She had a good time, and it showed with the way she talked. She told Merlin of the pretty lights and the noise of festivities. They weren’t what she was fond of the most, however, but the one part of her previous evening she was the fondest of was the man she said she met.

“I’ll be seeing Fergus again tomorrow,” she said with all the joy of an enamored maiden. “He’s amazing, Dolma. He’s smart and handsome and can make me laugh.”

She was bubbling with anticipation for the rest of her stay with him, her head mostly above the clouds. Merlin could hardly begrudge her that. He was simply glad that she found someone worth spending the time outside of his residence. He recalled how he had to urge her to go out more and mingle with her peers. An old witch was hardly the best company for a young woman, after all.

Merlin likened Rowena to a flower, and he took pride in thinking she bloomed under his careful tending. Although the more his love grew for this child he considered his own, the heavier the deception was weighing down on him. He should tell her at least what he was, who he really was underneath the guise of Dolma.

And yet at the same time, Merlin would like to stay forever in that persona if only he could have Rowena treat him as her mother. Merlin supposed this was how Hunith felt while looking after him and protecting him the best that she could.

Rowena continued seeing this man, Fergus, and Merlin would find her frequently spacing in her studies. He would chide her for catching her distracted, but deep down Merlin was happy to see his daughter joyous and no longer a stranger to the love he spoke of. Perhaps in the future, he would get to know this man she spoke highly of.

“I may not be coming tomorrow,” Rowena told him one evening before she left. She ambled with her words, and Merlin could see her reluctance to tell the truth. He knew she didn’t want to say it. “I… I will spend my time with Fergus. He invited me over his grand house, and I’ve never been anywhere aside from…” she looked down on her feet, “I want to go, Dolma. I enjoy his company and I think I—I—”

Merlin pitied her rapidly reddening face and shook his head. “Then go. Why are you hesitating?”

“Because I thought you’d be mad that I’ll miss my lessons with you for the _first_ time and I—” Rowena swallowed, fiddling with her fingers. “I don’t want you to think that I’m replacing you or my time with you with something trivial as this.”

“Trivial, hm? Only the foolish one call love trivial.” 

“Love? Dolma!”

“Is it not?” Merlin asked knowingly. Rowena couldn’t seem to answer. “Then I hope your time with him will help sort it for you.” He walked over her; she was now taller than his present form. Merlin cradled her face with wrinkly hands. “You are a special girl, and you deserve all the happiness in the world.” He pushed away the stray locks of her red hair and parted her with the advice of: “Don’t do anything you are not yet prepared for. Listen to your heart but don’t let it rule over you. The mind is placed above the heart for a reason.”

He watched her disappear in the horizon with the sun, and Merlin, for the most part, settled himself for the uneventful day that would surely follow.

* * *

In the next few weeks that rolled in, Merlin noticed a peculiar thing with Rowena.

The first clue was the healthy tinge on her skin and the way she gained a bit of weight. They weren’t out of ordinary for a young woman, mind, though there was something that started to nag on Merlin when he noticed them. Merlin made a further observation and discovered another change in her, this time with her magic that reacted more unpredictably to simple enchantments she used to practice. Merlin could name a few possible reasons for such changes, though one thing stood out among the rest.

When she began feeling ill particularly in the morning, his suspicions were confirmed.

Merlin had asked her to sit down one day to merely rest, and with her permission, Merlin bathed her with the soft glow of his sorcery. It wasn’t long for him to feel the tick of a pulse from inside her.

“Oh,” he said simply.

“Dolma, what is it?” Rowena asked concernedly. She paled at what must have been a grim expression on his old face. “Am I sick?”

“The sickness is only a part of the symptoms,” Merlin started carefully. He made sure to hold her hand while he gradually broached the news. “Rowena, you are carrying a child.”

“A child?” For a moment, she looked like she was ready to collapse on the spot before a huge beam showed on her face. “I’m going to be a mother?”

“Yes.” Merlin should say a lot regarding the matter, though he couldn’t help the smile of his own; hers was rather infectious. “You are pregnant.”

“Well, I’m—” Rowena touched her stomach, stroking it fondly. “I dinnae know it’ll be this soon, of course, but this is a blessing, Dolma.”

“A child is indeed a blessing, Rowena,” Merlin agreed. He sat beside her heavily. “But aren’t you too young for motherhood?”

She looked dismayed at his words. “Are ye saying that I cannae do it?”

“No, it’s not what I mean,” he replied firmly. “You are close to the age of childrearing, and you are not the only one who bears a child at this age. Child, what I’m saying that it won’t be easy, especially for your child that will be born out of wedlock. You have to tell him. Fergus is his name, is it not?”

She nodded weakly. “I intend to tell him. I think he’ll be happy.” She smiled softly. “I hope it will be a lad. Fergus always wanted a son. He only has a couple of lasses so far and—” She abruptly stopped, staring at Merlin with wide eyes at her slip-up.

“Fergus is a married man?” Merlin asked incredulously. “Rowena…”

“I know! I know what ye will say—Why do ye think I dinnae tell you?” she argued, the volume of her voice rising. “But I love him, and he loves me, only me. He dinnae love his grand wife anymore, ye see. For a while now they’re strangers in bed. He loves me because I am not his wife who is old and witless and—”

“Oh, Rowena,” Merlin murmured. He closed his eyes briefly. He didn’t know how to say it delicately, but there was no other way to tell her the truth of her situation.

He tried reaching for her hand, though she batted his touch away before bolting out of the door, disappearing at the egress of the woods.

So much for that lecture of love. He should have known; he should have been upfront with the ugly aspect of it all. He knew then that it would be different for someone like her who felt deeply and strongly once her young heart was on it. 

Merlin contemplated alone in his hut, unsure when she would be back—if she would at all—and hoped for the best outcome on Rowena’s end. 

* * *

Rowena returned at the same evening, soaked to the bone under the rain that she might or might not have brought forth with the ill tidings she carried.

She merely stood at the doorway, broken and lost. “I told him, Dolma,” she said before breaking down into a sobbing mess. 

That was all Merlin needed to know. 

He helped her change into dry clothes and cooked her a warm meal that she didn’t touch a bit. She was despondent when Merlin brushed her sopping hair, and she cried herself to sleep, something which would occur for several more nights until the pain of heartache dulled.

Rowena continued with her studies with Merlin though would have to cut herself half the day with her babe that made her easily weary. There was an air about her that hung like an oppressive cloud; it didn’t help with the difficult pregnancy that she seemed to have. 

Her rounding stomach certainly didn’t curb the rumors of the soon to be young mother. When Rowena’s father caught wind of the talk and confronted her, he practically threw her out, calling her disgraced and no daughter of his. 

Merlin took her in readily without question; it was no different than their initial setup where Rowena basically lived with him, except this time he became more privy to what she was outside this hut, outside the magical part of her days. 

Alone, she was a scared lonely girl who had nothing else but her magic and no one else but Merlin. 

Rowena wanted to pretend that nothing was wrong, that the fatherless child she was carrying wasn’t making it hard for her to go out and face the people, that she wasn’t conflicted with what she felt for her own child. 

“I hate it,” Rowena said aloud one evening. Merlin heard her suck a breath and he knew then that she hadn’t meant for him to hear it.

“The pregnancy?”

Rowena was quiet for a moment before saying, “The child.”

“Please don’t say that,” Merlin said with a frown. He wouldn’t reproach her for her words, but he has to remedy that mindset now. “I understand what you’re feeling, but your child shouldn’t take the brunt of it.”

Rowena laughed humorlessly. “Well, that’s hard, but I wouldn’t expect ye to know. Ye never had someone, did you? Ye’ve never been in my position to tell me who I should blame!”

“You’re right,” Merlin agreed. “I’ve never been in the position where I carried a poor child unwanted by both the mother and the father,” he said. “But I know what it is to be left by someone I love with my whole being who I thought… I thought I’d grow old with. He didn’t leave me on purpose, no, but tell me, Rowena, is the great feeling of loss completely different? Is it not that dark pit in your chest that seems as if it will eat you from within?” 

Rowena turned away in anguish. Her shoulders slumped down as if the fight left her. 

Merlin sat in front of her, reaching with his gnarly hands her smaller ones. “I am sorry for your pain, child, for it is not something we can cure with magic no matter how much of it we both have,” he said. “It hurts now, and it will still be for an indefinite time. We cannot erase it, only live with it until it becomes bearable. You think your child a mistake, a mark of your failure, when you should acknowledge him or her as your greatest lesson.” Merlin’s palm squeezed her hand while the other touched her chin to meet him straight in the eye. “I cannot presume to know what carrying a child feels like, but I do know what it is like to be a mother to a special girl.”

Rowena cried on his neck, holding on to Merlin like a lifeline. Merlin let her, and he thought it was enough to make it a little easier for her.

* * *

Merlin was far away from Rowena when her labor began, alerted only by a sudden spike of magic that could have only come from her. 

He swiftly flew the premises of his territory and located her in a barn with only hay for bed. She wasn't alone when he arrived. There was an unknown well-dressed man beside her, gripping her hand to lend her strength. 

"I know this… is not…" Rowena groaned at a particularly difficult contraction. "Bollocks. Dolma, this is Fergus. Fergus, this is Dolma."

Fergus nodded at Merlin grimly. “I… I know I don’t have the right to be here. It’s difficult to explain, but I had a sudden urge to go here, to see her.” Conflict danced across his face. “It seems only right.”

This man didn’t even know he was influenced to go to find Rowena, and by the looks of it, she hadn’t known too that she beckoned him to her. Merlin held his tongue from speaking any further when he saw the two lacing their fingers together adoringly. 

Despite being tainted with grief and longing, Rowena was still the same girl with a huge heart that was easy to forgive and quick to forget. 

Merlin wasn’t so heartless that he would take away from her this respite. 

He had his fair share of midwifery that Merlin was confident he could assist Rowena’s childbirth. The difference, however, was that Merlin never handled a witch before. 

Merlin did the next best thing: provide the utmost protection. The whole barn was cloaked with a barrier of its own to escape any prying eyes, and the space within has its own protective layer should Rowena’s magic run amok in her weak and pained state. 

It was a harrowing eight hours, ending with the dawn on their backs. Rowena was alarmingly pale and breathing shallowly that Merlin had to make sure that he wouldn’t lose her while he cut her cord. 

Fergus held the babe in his arms, a son who got a tuft of hair darker than his mother. He wasn’t born with natural magic Rowena, his makeup closer to his father's, but he did have an impressive set of lungs.

For a second, Merlin believed Fergus was enchanted with the boy in a way that was stronger than magic. He cradled the boy gingerly to his chest, almost afraid to part with him when Rowena weakly asked for her babe. 

“Name him Fergus,” Rowena said once she mustered enough strength to speak. She was close to losing consciousness, too frail to even sit up. 

"We will, child, we will," Merlin promised her. "Rest up. Sleep for now. You'll need your strength back. I'll be here when you wake."

Her bleary eyes darted to Fergus. "Will I see ye later?"

"Of course," Fergus told her, perhaps aware that he was making an empty promise, perhaps not. "I'll be here. I love you."

Rowena smiled, her eyes already closed. "And I, you."

Fergus kissed her forehead and the top of his son's head. "I'll get you two warm towels, new clothes, and food. I'll be back for you and our son."

He was heading out for the door when Merlin spoke from the shadows where he has been for a while. 

"You shouldn't have said that," Merlin said when Rowena was fast asleep with her boy on her chest.

He knew that once Fergus stepped out of the place, the spell would be broken, and he would go about his life inside his grand home, back to his grand wife and little girls. 

The dimness of the barn casted a shadow over Fergus's face. Merlin didn't have to look under the light to see that this man already made up his mind. 

"Thank you for your help. Please take care of them," Fergus said simply. 

"And I hope you can live with your decision," Merlin replied in defeat. 

Fergus turned around and exited without an ounce of hesitation. 

* * *

“He’s not coming back, is he?”

Merlin wasn’t surprised anymore when Rowena came to the conclusion a week after her childbirth. What took him aback, though, was the lack of tears in her eyes and the hard line of brewing anger. 

“He isn’t,” Merlin confirmed, swaddling little Fergus with thicker clothes. The colder days were starting, and Merlin would belatedly realize it was a prelude to events that would come to play in a few weeks. “But you and little Fergus will be alright without him. You don’t need that man, Rowena. You can be a good mother without him.”

She stared at Merlin, hardly sparing her son a glance and her expression stony when she answered, “Aye. You’re right.”

The hate in her eyes that she took to sleep would be forever etched in Merlin’s mind. 

* * *

When Rowena was strong enough to move, she would leave at random odd hours. Little Fergus was left unattended and would cry as early as midnight whenever he sensed his mother gone. 

Merlin would ask her where she went, in which she would respond with a shrug or no answer at all. She would go about the day, listless, and not once carried her child if it wasn’t to feed him. It was clear that she held no love for the boy, and the chance that there could have been vanished with little Fergus’s father. 

“Rowena, please stop,” Merlin called on one midnight where she was to leave once more. 

The more frequent her absence was, the more Merlin became unsure if she would return. While he would always be glad and relieved that she was around the next day, Merlin’s worry couldn’t help but grow each day. She wouldn’t speak of what ailed her—Merlin _knew_ , gods he knew—but he wished she would tell him and not let it fester in her like an incurable wound. 

And Rowena... Rowena was no longer healing. 

“I’ll be back,” she said. “You know I’ll be back.”

She vanished in the darkness of the evening, and Merlin was powerless to stop her when little Fergus cried and wailed. 

Merlin rocked the boy to sleep, and as Fergus was lulled back to slumber, Merlin pretended that his heart wasn’t breaking for Rowena. 

* * *

When Merlin came to his senses the following morning, he heard a faint melodious hum. 

Little Fergus was no longer in his bassinet, and Rowena was nowhere to be found. Though, for some inexplicable reason, Merlin did not have any alarm bells ringing at their absence. 

Cautiously, Merlin exited the hut and found the two on the porch. Rowena sang to her child who giggled at her tickling. Merlin almost wept at the pleasant sight and was joyous when Rowena greeted him with a wide beam that followed little Fergus's wet, toothless grin at him. 

He was overwhelmed at the prospect of the old Rowena returning—he need not any apology or any explanation of her previous actions. It was an uncomplicated feeling of elation and nothing else. 

Merlin wasn’t one for prayer to the Goddesses of the Old Religion that he owed his magic to, but he did know that for once, he was heard. 

* * *

Rowena announced later in the afternoon that she would take Fergus out with her, claiming that the child has been cooped up for too long in the hut with only two women for company. She teased that he might grow up not knowing any man at all. 

Merlin reigned in his inexplicable unease because for what other reason Rowena would leave with her child? In fact, she did have a point. Little Fergus could use a little sun and witness his first sunset. 

“Rowena,” Merlin began when he saw them out. “You know how to call me when you need to, yes?”

There was a flash of guilt that crossed her eyes, too swift for Merlin to catch and discern immediately. “Of course, Dolma. We’ll… see you. You take care here.”

They both exited the woods with Merlin watching their back until they were out of sight. Merlin swallowed the ominous thought that he would no longer see the same sight again. 

* * *

True to form, Merlin’s intuition was right and he was foolish enough to ignore it. 

By dusk, a bright fire lit a distant part of the town. Merlin was alerted by the dark smoke that rose in the air and managed to reach the dense forest. More than that, there was the incessant ringing that pierced his sanctuary, a trick that Merlin knew only one person was capable of. 

Merlin feared the worst and rushed to the town where it was chaos and a mass of people. Rowena and Fergus were nowhere to be found among the crowd, and Merlin prayed fervently for their safety—

“It was a witch!” yelled someone. “It was a witch who burned the manor!” 

_No._

Merlin maneuvered through the wave of townspeople, discreetly making his way towards the burnt manor that only then had its fires put out. He recognized Fergus, the master of the family who owned the manor, and his wife and children who stood with him. 

He addressed the crowd, not noticing Merlin with them. "I stand here to tell you that it wasn't an accident. God has blessed me and my family to emerge unharmed, but this act shall not go unpunished. The retribution I will leave to the Church to serve justice as they see fit to the witch who burned my family’s home and had the audacity to call me an ingrate who impregnated her.” 

There were angry murmurs and surprised gasps that floated amongst the crowd. Yells of 'witch' and 'bitch scum' were heard, and the higher the pitchforks were raised. 

Fergus raised his hand, satisfied at the people's reaction. "We are indeed fortunate that the witch among our midst is finally caught together with her and the Devil's spawn."

_No. No. No._

"Tonight, we will be doing the Lord's work by burning the witch and her spawn. Our town will be finally free from the Devil's grasp." 

Merlin didn't have to hear another word before bolting away to locate Rowena and little Fergus. 

* * *

The bastille they locked her up with Fergus was guarded with several men—a number which Merlin snapped unconscious without a hitch. 

A cry from a babe led him to the end of the dark hallway. A couple of steps nearer, a shush stopped the babe's wail. 

"I'm sorry," Merlin heard the familiar voice hiccuping and murmuring. "I'm sorry." 

"Rowena."

Rowena jolted from her cell, pulling at the iron chains that dampened her magic. Fergus was jostled on her lap rudely but remained asleep with the enchantment she put him under. 

"Dolma?" she whispered, unbelieving. "Dolma, is that you?"

"It is me, child." Merlin crouched down to her level. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Rowena shook her head fervently. "No. You have nothing to apologize for. It is I who is stupid and—"

"Hush now," Merlin shushed her. "I'll free you and once you're out, take your son and run far, far away. Don't go back to the hut or anywhere nearby. Flee, Rowena. Flee where no one knows of you and Fergus."

He opened the locked door and removed her shackles in rapid successions. Merlin produced a pouch of a few gold and nickels and handed it to her. With a murmur, he blessed Fergus to last the cold evening wind. Merlin led them both to the other exit that led behind the bastille. 

“Light a fire and you should be able to see your way. Fret not about carrying a lit torch. The people won’t be looking in your direction, I’ll make sure of it.” He pulled off the metal grate and ushered Rowena in once there were noises that came from the entrance of the bastille. “They’re here. Go!”

“How about you?” Rowena hissed. “We’re not leaving without you!”

“You’re going to,” Merlin told her firmly. “I told you, didn’t I? I’ll make sure they won’t go looking for you.”

Understanding dawned on Rowena’s face. “No. No. No you cannae do that. You cannae take the fall for something _I_ did. I did burn down that place, Dolma. Me! Why would you take the punishment for that?”

“Because you’re my child. You might have little Fergus but you’ll never stop being mine.” Merlin leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll always be with you and Fergus. Always remember that.”

Merlin morphed into a different form right in front of her, and within a minute, he stood as a duplicate of Rowena who was carrying a wriggling bundle in her arms. He captured the exact shade of her hair, the pointed face and the confident expression that he used to remember on her. 

“I’ll be alright, child,” Merlin persuaded her, smiling softly. “You’ll be alright. I love you.”

He was weak against her tears, but as they said with all good things that must come to pass, this was it for him. 

It was time to free his child and let her stand on her own feet. 

* * *

They burned Merlin on the stake with all the intent of charring him to the bone. 

Or at least, they thought they did. It was an impressive life-like illusion if he must say so himself. He also hated it given how it showed him the ugliness of humanity that was willing to burn a babe and the mother to crisp. 

Merlin was blind when it came to who he loved, and Rowena was a living testament of that. He had been blind to her mistakes and turned the other way when resentment brewed in her. 

In hindsight, he had always known it would end up this way. Merlin was just too selfish to care, thinking he was doing what was the best for Rowena. 

And this was the price he would pay: completely detaching himself from her life and making her independent without him guiding her every step of the way. 

* * *

Merlin traveled the world, most of the time holding himself back from locating Rowena and little Fergus. He realized that he became attached to the form of Dolma that when he adapted another persona, it remained the form of a woman though younger, way younger. 

As a woman with powerful magic and no background of origin, Merlin became an enigma in the various communities of witches that he would mingle with in hopes of encountering Rowena again by chance. It was wishful thinking, maybe, after concluding that Rowena must have taken her second chance of a new life to be the best mother to her Fergus who should be around the age of seven by then.

Merlin took in the name of Letitia di Albioni, which, he admitted, was an inspired choice of a name. They had plenty of guesses on Letitia’s nationality but most settled with the belief that he was a Milanese based from the exotic color of his skin. Within the decade of building his name, Merlin got plenty of requests of tutelage from old and young witches alike. He never took a single student in fear that he would end up comparing each to the one true student he ever had. 

His refusal to take any apprentice only served to urge many more to approach him, he later found out in the Beltane he attended for the third time in the present century. It wasn’t new that the names of Merlin and Morgana were thrown around during pagan celebrations, though what was surprising was when the name of Letitia di Albioni was enough to elicit a reaction to any witch worth their salt. 

But it wasn’t what completely pulled the rug underneath Merlin that day, no. It was the witch with long red curls who marched up to him determinedly to be taken as his student. 

They laughed at her. They laughed at the audacity of this unknown young witch to demand the tutelage of a renowned witch. 

Merlin, meanwhile, could only register that it was Rowena and it had been so long for him since he saw her last. 

“My name is Rowena MacLeod, and I am here to study under you.” 

Merlin’s lips twitched into a smile. “I accept.”

* * *

Rowena remained the same hardworking student that she was before. The difference now was that there was a clear boundary between the two of them as a mentor and a mentee that none of them were willing to step over; Rowena for the obvious reason that she only knew Merlin by the name of Letitia and Merlin for fear of breaking his present character. 

Although it would occur to him once or twice that it wouldn't be so bad if he revealed himself. 

He could certainly ask about little Fergus that way. Merlin was eager to know how the boy was doing and who Rowena had entrusted to temporarily care for him. Merlin had set a limited time for the study knowing there wasn't much left for him to teach her, that Rowena was a fast learner that time shouldn't be a pressing matter for her, and with little Fergus she couldn't afford to be away from him for an indefinite period. 

Rowena never mentioned her son to him, too focused on her studies to impress the famous Letitia di Albioni. She didn't even know that she already did since she made the flowers dance in the wind. 

Merlin was sorely tempted to return to the form of Dolma, to ask Rowena where she and little Fergus had been after their escape. She might have stood better once she left his care, but it didn't mean that he hadn't missed his daughter. His heart eventually won and Merlin made up his mind to find her. 

When Merlin found her in the secluded forest not far from the grounds of Letitia's residence, however, he had to stop short when he recognized the bundle she carried. 

"What are you doing?"

Rowena promptly settled down the small bundle on her makeshift table. At the sudden movement, it struggled until a wail pierced the air. 

"Where did you get the babe?" Merlin demanded. A cold pit in his stomach making itself known. "Rowena, where did you get the babe and what do you plan to do with him?"

Rowena appeared unbothered one bit. "I did hear that a wee boy's blood works wonders for various spells that require blood. A newborn's blood is more potent and doesn't spoil under the right condition," she said factually. "The bones are soft and can be preserved for later use. The tibula and marrow will be viable to include in a protective hexbag and—"

"Stop."

Rowena went silent though kept her chin high as if daring Merlin to point that she was wrong with her information when it wasn't even the point at all. 

"I thought I made it clear that I won't teach you the dark arts," Merlin mustered to say with authority. "That includes rituals that require the sacrifice of life and blood of the living."

"Aye, you said that, but you also said you encourage freethinking, did you not?" Rowena scoffed, crossing her arms. "And this is how I think freely, by not limiting myself to one branch of magic that I already know prior to coming here."

"You're willing to sacrifice a life? To sacrifice a babe?"

"It's a means to an end. We have several years ahead of us, Letitia. We're bound to bloody our hands for more than a ritual."

And Merlin saw what he completely missed in her eyes during the Beltane. He had been overcome with joy at finding her again that he didn't notice she already changed, that she wasn't the same young woman who flourished under his care. Her eyes were proud but harder and harsher, her smile cutting and plotting. There was a dangerous edge on her now, a deadly ragged edge that wouldn't hesitate to cut someone down who would oppose her and stand in her way. 

"How can you say that so carelessly when you have a child of your own?" 

Rowena flinched and a scowl formed in her face. "I see you've heard the rumors."

"But it's true, isn't it? You have a son."

"I had a son," Rowena sneered. "I had a son before I came here. I gave him away to a workhouse where we’ll both be better off. About time I discard the thing that's weighing me down." 

_What happened to you?_ Merlin wanted to ask but steeled himself. "How could you say that to your own child? How could he not be worth more than the magic that you already have?"

He thought about little Fergus, abandoned and alone in another place where he would have to earn his bread at a young age, all the while clueless as to why he was left by his mother. 

"Do you hear yourself?" Rowena asked incredulously. "Nothing could be worth more than improving the measly magic that I have. I thought I was powerful but I was not, I never am."

"And what then, Rowena? When you think you're powerful enough, what then? Move forward, find another mentor and learn more and more until you learn what it is that you have to? In the end, do you think it'll be worth it when you have no one to live for?"

"Exactly!" Rowena exclaimed. "I am doing this because I learned my lesson before! I wasn't strong enough then to keep the two people that mattered the most in my side. I won't let that happen again."

Merlin felt like he was slapped in the face. So this was what happened afterward, Rowena had blamed herself for Dolma’s ‘death’. He had a hand in this as well, indirectly or not. "But you already did when you should have chosen your son over everything else," Merlin whispered defeatedly. 

Rowena sucked in a sharp breath, turning away. "You don't understand. You never will," she said feebly, bitterly. She stood straighter and arranged herself. "I won't fight you over this, and I respect you enough to take your opinion. It seems that our… clashing perspective will only cause us conflict in the future."

She walked past him and never turned back, and when the next dawn broke, Rowena had left with all her meager belongings. 

* * *

It took Merlin quite some time, but he found little Fergus. 

He wasn’t so little anymore, his stature close to his father’s while his hair of beaten copper close to his mother’s. He was a hard worker like his mother, though the cleverness that he got from her he utilized as a hustler who made a few enemies. 

Merlin entertained the thought that he could simply walk up to him and introduce himself. Though introduce himself as what? An old woman who had taken care of his mother at a young age and until she had him? Fergus grew into adulthood without Rowena, and at best Fergus had forgotten about his mother, worst was him growing up hating her. 

Merlin helped Fergus through the shadows by providing him work. Within a fortnight, Merlin got him a stable job as the local tanner. It was like his grandfather’s occupation, but it was better than the swindling he made a name of. 

Fergus got a little family of his own. In hindsight, it was unsurprising that there was no wife to take note of. All Merlin knew was that one day, he saw him carrying a little boy by his lonesome self and saw the gentleness there when he played with the babe who he called Gavin.

Merlin hoped that he wouldn’t become his mother to his own child. 

He left his watch of Fergus and his son, and Merlin forgot the fickleness of mortal life. 

Gavin, who was twelve summers old then, had lost his father to the ravaging winter. 

It wasn’t the cold, no. They said it was a pack of wolves starved during the long winter and found their first taste of meat in Fergus after the bitter cold. It was an ugly and cruel way for a man to die. 

Rowena, who had then joined a newly-formed coven of female witches, had been unaware of her son’s fate. Fergus didn’t have a lot of people to mourn him. In the end, it was only Gavin who stood by his father’s grave. By the time Merlin stood beside him, the boy still refused to mourn. 

“Who are ye?” Gavin asked the lanky man who was Merlin in his original form. 

“A friend,” Merlin said. He crouched down to lay flowers above the fresh soil. He brought the fragrant saffron that Rowena had loved as a girl in hopes that it was a way for her to be present in Fergus’s death. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank ye,” Gavin said politely. “He… was not a good father, but it was not right for him to die that way.” 

_Oh._ Merlin had been wrong. Again. “I am sorry too that he wasn’t kind to you when he was alive.” 

Merlin was sorry for a lot of things that he caused, one way or another. 

Gavin didn’t have the same knack as his father, though with resourcefulness and diligence he had managed to become the captain of a trading ship. Four years in and he was bound for the west for a greener pasture. 

And then, younger than his father had been, Gavin died, lost at sea. So the line of MacLeod ended. 

* * *

Merlin saw the world in its entirety once more. It was like seeing it again for the first time after a few centuries. Magic dwindled but the world kept turning and the mortal humans developing. 

It was a completely different world in the new millennium, and Merlin was that young man again with a head full of adventures and wonder. He often frequented the other side of the globe, and he became acquainted with the fast-paced technology of the world. By now, people have something for all kinds of things. The population grew together with their innovation, and Merlin adapted to the rapid change.  
  
  


He would think about Rowena sometimes, wondered where she might be and what she was doing. Rowena became that dull ache in his chest that never faded completely. He could look for her, but would he like who he would find? 

Would he find her as the Rowena who remembered the lesson he taught her all those years ago? Or would he find her as that Rowena he last remembered for the darkness brewing inside her? Had she gotten rid of that bitter resentment and hate, or did she let those fester in her like a decaying wound? 

Merlin, as always, was too late to find out. 

Rowena’s death had reached him a month since she died. They said it was her third death within the decade, and the last was the permanent one. As it turned out, Rowena’s name had inspired a semblance of respect among her kind, but greater was the mockery they put her name in for having affiliated herself with the renowned hunters known as the Winchester Brothers. 

Merlin might have heard of the name once or twice though never associated with Rowena. He must have been out of the loop for too long that he hadn’t known that there had been also a talk that Rowena’s boy, Fergus MacLeod, had become the King of Hell after his death. He died two years earlier than his mother, and he also died as a friend of the Winchesters. 

Rowena seemed to have settled down in a permanent residency in the better part of a city. There was powerful enchantment within the premise that initially refused Merlin to pass. Merlin’s own magic appeased what was left of Rowena’s and allowed him in. 

It was raided, by the looks of it. They stripped her home bare of her belongings that pertained to her craft and trade, and while Merlin no longer knew this version of Rowena who they said died to save the world, the tears that fell from him were brought by centuries of deep-seated regrets and long-forgotten days. 

That day, Merlin had well and truly felt the loss of his child. 

* * *

Merlin wasn’t one to drown his sorrows in alcohol as most people did in the current era, though he thought it fitting to make an exemption this one time.

He always liked making an exemption when it came to Rowena. 

It was a nondescript bar that he found a few miles outside town. Merlin slipped into the guise of an old man out of reflex, no longer bothering with the tiny details of it all. Tonight was about Rowena, and he would drink in her name. 

There weren’t many inside, just a couple of seniors and outsiders who wished to pass the time in a sleepy town. Merlin could give a few guesses of their specific reasons but who would care about the asinine blabber of an old man? Certainly not this tall, quiet man who was sitting beside him, scotch at hand and with red-rimmed eyes. 

The man turned exactly when Merlin was staring. He nodded a bit to him in acknowledgment, and Merlin felt rather foolish to gawk at the grieving man. For all Merlin knew, he looked the same way. 

“Apologies,” Merlin muttered, not expecting an answer in return but to his surprise got one. 

“It’s okay, sir,” the man said. “I, uh, I understand that I look like a mess.”

“Pah. I’m no better,” Merlin told him. “I am just old for a long time to know how to reign my snot in.”

That elicited a low chuckle from the man. He stared hollowly at his drink, eyes distant.

“I am not a drinker, but tonight I want to be,” Merlin spoke, mostly to himself. “I get now what they say about the alcohol helping to cope with the loss.”

“And we think them stupid,” the man murmured. “Between me and my brother, I’m the one who hardly touches the alcohol and nothing stronger than beer.”

Merlin glanced away solemnly. 

“Um, no, it’s not him. My brother is alive and well back in our place,” he said, quickly understanding Merlin’s assumption. “It’s… a friend.”

Merlin nodded grimly. “Mine is my daughter,” he told him. “You don’t have to speak, my boy. We can honor them through silence.” 

“Thank you,” he said, and Merlin could feel the sincerity of it. “But I feel like I should. Some people knew she died, but aside from my brother and best friend, no one else knew what really happened.” 

“I see.” Merlin took a swig and hailed the bartender for a refill. “My daughter and I had been estranged for quite some time. We had a fight the last time I saw her, and then the next thing I know, she’s gone, just like that. We never had the chance to talk, catch up, and make amends.”

They both fell silent for a moment before Merlin spoke again, “That’s the thing, isn’t it? We tend to take relationships for granted when we still have them. I should have fixed it between us. I should have been there when she was hurting.”

“I cannot presume to know what happened with you and your daughter, but wherever she might be right now, I hope she’s no longer in pain.”

“That is very kind of you to say. Thank you,” Merlin said. “I am glad though that she was with friends in her final moments. That, at least, she had at the end of her difficult life.” He glanced at the man. “I hope that your friend is also in a better place now.”

The look that crossed the man’s eyes was painful and bitter. “I hope so as well,” he said, his voice raw and strained despite the low volume. He exhaled, lips quivering when his eyes began to water. He hastily rubbed his eyes and mustered a wretched smile. “I’ll be honest. She wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but she… she understood me. She knew what I’ve been through and knew it first hand. She wasn’t the closest friend of mine, but we shared an understanding that surpassed that mutual trauma.”

“You loved her,” Merlin said sadly. 

“Of course. I loved her as my friend, as family.” He paused, thoughtful and resigned. “I could have loved her beyond friendship if I had the chance. We were deeply-flawed people, she and I, and yet I could see us fitting together those rough edges.”

What an odd pair Merlin and this man made. Two people in the night who mourned their losses over a bottle or two. Although once the words tumbled out of them, the alcohol stopped flowing that there was only an amicable conversation between two strangers who stumbled upon the same bar. 

It was only by the time they parted that names were exchanged. Merlin introduced himself as Emrys, and the man told the name of Sam. 

* * *

As all losses Merlin had in his long life, time did help healing them. 

He never forgot, no. He would allow himself to reminisce about the people he loved, send a flower for each in their memory, some with an exact date in the year while most none. When he remembered Arthur, Merlin never forgot Hunith, Gaius, Gwen, the knights, and even Morgana. 

Merlin lived with their memory etched in his soul, and he would carry them with him for as long as he existed. 

He took the persona of a middle-aged woman and began to teach in a local college. They called him Agnes, and he was a historian who lived the stories in the history books. Merlin loved the job of teaching numerous students, and he never held back on giving counsel to who might be in need of it. 

It became common for his students that he would take the time off for a couple of days every year. Today, he was on leave for personal reasons. Today, it was Rowena’s turn to be remembered, seven years since her passing. 

Merlin sat on a bench of the nearby park and scattered in the wind the bouquet of saffron that he carried, making the air in the vicinity fragrant. Vaguely and rather incongruously, Merlin remembered the time where it was known more as the flower than the priced spice that it was nowadays. 

A couple of people walked under the pleasant afternoon sun, and Merlin observed the peaceful surroundings. In a few decades, these people would be replaced by the next generation, and the sole constant presence that would remain would be him and him alone. 

Such was the immortal life of Merlin, the being born human but existed more as Magic. 

There was a nearby childish giggling that took him out of his somber thoughts. Merlin spied two little children that were no older than five or six, a boy and a girl. Twins, by the looks of it. They played with their large golden retriever, running after the excitable dog that was bigger than them. 

The dog, to Merlin’s surprise, stopped in front of him and yapped jovially. Merlin chuckled and fondly scratched the back of its ears. 

“He likes you!” said the girl. “Merlin, look, Legolas likes her!” 

Merlin had to blink because he was sure he wasn’t the one the girl was pertaining to. He turned to the other boy that the girl called ‘Merlin’ and confirmed that he was indeed the one being addressed by his sister. 

“I know, Morgana, I’m not blind,” grumbled the boy, Merlin. 

Oh. Merlin and Morgana. Merlin smiled fondly at the twins. Both sported emerald eyes, though the young Merlin had dark hair while his sister Morgana possessed a striking red mane. 

Merlin was assaulted with the familiar nostalgia and thought the fate being playful to name and make this girl a combination of the two women Merlin had largely failed in their sorrowful lives.

The dog, Legolas as they called it, barked at them as if beckoning them both to Merlin. Merlin smiled gently at the two kids. “So this good boy is yours?” he said. Legolas liked the praise.

“He’s Legolas, ma’am,” young Merlin said. 

Merlin chuckled. “I see. Does he happen to know how to shoot bow and arrows as well?” he asked teasingly. 

“Not yet, but we can teach him!” Morgana said enthusiastically. “He’ll learn how. He’s a fast learner!”

Merlin glanced at Legolas as if sharing a wry grin with the dog. “I bet he is.”

“Legolas doesn’t like strangers, but he likes you,” young Merlin pointed out. He scrunched his young face in a deep frown. “He doesn’t even like our Uncle Dean much, but he likes Uncle Cas and Jack so much.” Young Merlin gasped in realization. “Legolas likes them because they’re angels. Are you an angel too, ma’am?”

“I think I’d know if I am,” Merlin replied with a beam that he couldn’t take off his lips. “But I suppose that will explain why Legolas likes you two as well. He must have thought of you two as little angel playmates.”

Morgana giggled. “That’s silly. Besides, Mum calls us her little devils instead because she said she was the Queen of Hell before she had us.” 

Merlin didn’t know what to say to that, frankly, and he was glad to be spared the chance to speak when a female voice calling for the children’s names rang not far. 

“Och. You two, I only turn a second and suddenly you two are gone—” the woman exclaimed in relief once she found her children, rushing to get them. “Oh, and you even bothered the nice lady,” she chided them, clicking her tongue in disapproval. 

Merlin’s brain ground into a stuttering halt upon seeing who it was. 

It was Rowena, alive and well. 

“I am sorry, madam, if my children had disturbed you,” Rowena said apologetically. Her voice was almost unrecognizable with barely the hint of her Scottish accent.

“It’s—It’s nothing,” Merlin said hastily, close to being overwhelmed with emotions. “They are lovely kids. Morgana and Merlin, correct? They’re just explaining to me that they could teach Legolas here archery.”

Rowena rolled her eyes fondly on her children. “They watch too many movies, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I mean, they can certainly try. It’ll be unprecedented.” 

Rowena ruffled her children’s head affectionately. “Hear that? The nice lady is challenging you.” 

“We’ll start tomorrow!” the two kids simultaneously said, brimming with determination. 

“Thank you for looking out for them for a bit,” Rowena told him. “I understand that they can be rowdy at times—most of the time.”

“Then it’s a good thing I know a thing or two about handling children. A necessity as a teacher, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. You teach?” Rowena asked conversationally. 

“College students, yes,” Merlin answered. 

“Mum, I think it’s Dad,” Morgana said, pulling at her mother’s left sleeve while young Merlin was on the other one. 

“Papa!” young Merlin yelled enthusiastically, running with his sister and Legolas to meet their father halfway. “Papa, we’re here!” 

Merlin followed their line of sight and found a distantly familiar tall man jogging over to the kids and scooping them up in a hug. Merlin remembered a nameless bar and a grieving man who drank scotch.

And, oh, oh. Somehow… somehow it all made sense. 

“We better go,” Rowena told him. She smiled, and it was the same genuine smile of that girl that Merlin remembered centuries ago. “Thank you again.” 

“You’re welcome,” Merlin said with a smile of his own. “You have a lovely family.” 

Merlin waved as they went, and he thought it was the best surprise that he could ever ask for. 

He sat back on the bench, felt the cool breeze on his skin, and discovered that it wasn’t so lonely a world anymore. 

A single bloom of saffron remained, and this time, Merlin kept it for himself. 

All was well. 

* * *

**_fin_ **


End file.
